Quiet

I know, I haven't been writing much lately. The weather is bleak, sleep-heavy and grey. There are lots of changes going on, in my life and in my family's (both of my beloved sisters are having rough times -- one more than another -- and two of my best friends are going through big stuff, too). And of course, we're coming up on the anniversary of Dad's death. This week, last year, Dad went into the hospital for the last time. Maybe I've been too busy to think about it, but mostly I'm okay. I thought I'd be worse off. A lot of the memories about this time last year have softened in their ability to pierce my heart. I keep testing some of them, one by one, to see if I can stand them -- remembering driving all alone to the hospital, knowing I was going to say goodbye to my Daddy. Remembering when they gave him the news. Remembering that horrible sponge on a stick that we had to use to moisten his poor mouth in the last day. Remembering the utter love on my Mom's face, a look which I can't remember ever seeing her give to him before... but she must have...that showed me she must have, and it changed a lot about how I've felt about their marriage for all these years. It's still painful. But not as horrific. I'm grateful for that. So, there's lots of inward musing going on, and I'm no longer one to process things in writing as much as I used to. In my mid-twenties, I'd write pages and pages of journal entries about the latest goateed asshole to disrupt my days, work worries, music dreams. Now, I try to stop the endless cycling in my brain -- say things once, clearly and concisely, and then look for solutions. It's a relief not to endlessly process things in words. Because with so many things in life, my words aren't up to the task.